


Sina Cinema

by Anonymous



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirstein is an ordinary college student by day and a glamorous (read: pretentious) movie blogger by night. Eren Yeager may or may not be that guy that takes everything on the internet too personally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. beginning, 01

“Nothing good came out of this movie,” said Jean, not looking away from his laptop screen as he typed. “It was overrated. Don’t bother watching it.”

“I already saw it. I thought it was pretty good,” said Armin, taking a sip of his coffee. “Thoughtful, heavy.”

Jean stopped to look at him with displeasure. “Armin, no. I thought you had taste.”

Armin refrained from rolling his eyes. “Hey,” he said, “my best friend is a huge film buff and he loved it.”

“Then your friend also has no taste,” said Jean. “It was like a glorified Michael Bay movie with faux depth, less explosions, and more people-eating. And the critics eat it up.” 

He shook his head in disapproval.

Armin let the topic go, not wanting to get into an argument about the merits and drawbacks of _Attack on Titan_. He was almost as bad as Eren was when it came to defending his passionate opinions about movies. Anything else Jean could let go, but never movies.

“You should really be a film major,” said Armin, chuckling. 

They both majored in engineering, and Jean did well in his classes, but it always seemed a little strange for how much he seemed disinterested in it versus how much he loved film.

Jean didn’t look up, only continuing to type on his keyboard.

“I wouldn’t make enough money with that,” he said.

“Oh,” said Armin. “I suppose you’re right. It doesn’t guarantee the most stable career.”

Jean didn’t say any more in response. The university library seemed unsettlingly silent now, Armin thought, and he wondered if he said something inappropriate. He wanted to apologize, although he wasn’t sure for what, exactly. He looked back down at his textbook, leafing through the pages for a final time, before he decided he was finished studying for the day.

“I’m going now. I’m going to meet up with my friend to see that new Sam Raimi movie—do you want to come?”

Jean’s considered it for a moment. “Sam Raimi?”

“Yeah,” said Armin.

“Eh. I’ll pass. Thanks, though.”

“Are you sure?” said Armin.

Jean only squinted at his screen, pushing up the glasses on the bridge of his nose with a finger.

“Jean?” said Armin.

“What?” said Jean, looking up abruptly.

“I asked you if you were sure about not wanting to go to the movie.”

“Oh, yeah, no. It’s fine. I need to study.”

Armin smiled at him, reminding him to take it easy and not study too much or neglect his health.

“You’re telling me not to study too much?” said Jean incredulously.

Armin shrugged. “You need to relax and have fun every once in a while. That’s what Eren is always telling me, anyway. I think he’s right.”

“Eren, huh? Is that the guy that likes _Attack on Titan_?”

“Yeah,” said Armin.

Jean snorted. “Then maybe don’t trust his judgment too much.”

Armin rolled his eyes, then said goodbye. As he walked away, Jean’s eyes followed him until he was no longer in sight. As soon as Armin exited through the large wooden doors, Jean rapidly clicked to the next tab over and logged into his blog.

“Oh my god, _Attack on Titan_ was so good,” said a girl the next table over.

“I know. I want to see it again!” said the boy next to her.

Jean shook his head and wondered how people could be so blind to a movie’s quality.

He began typing:

> To everyone who likes _Attack on Titan_ : you’re all blind and have no taste in movies. Let me tell you why…

 

* * *

 

 

> …
> 
> Special effects and ambiguous morality do not make a good movie; hot actors do not make a good movie; and the presence of “cool man-eating giants” and a lot of action certainly do not make a good movie. Let’s face it: _Attack on Titan_ is overrated and only popular for superficial reasons. It’s a passable film, but not a good one, and certainly not a great one, so I mourn for the critics that praise it for its “originality” (it’s not original at all), gripping story (I fell asleep for twenty minutes), and wonderful execution (the camera work? Above average at best. The acting was great, but not enough to cover up the messes that were the trite characters and obvious plot twists). 
> 
> I also don’t buy its pseudo-intellectual, moral conflict, and, let’s face it, the main character was completely unlikable. He was maybe the worst aspect of this movie, and that’s saying a lot.
> 
> _Attack on Titan_ sucked. It’s fine for the masses or as a first-rate B-movie, but not fit for those who want a little more thoughtfulness out of their films.
> 
> Final rating:
> 
> ★★☆☆☆

 

“What a pretentious douche,” said Eren in disbelief. “So what if it had man-eating giants?”

The writer of this review was probably one of those guys that wore scarves all the time regardless of the season and only saw foreign indie films and discussed it with equally pretentious scarf-wearing friends over soy, non-fat lattes.

“ _Attack on Hipsters_ ,” Eren whispered.

There was nothing wrong with those people, of course — bless their refined, soy latte-filled hearts. (And maybe Eren was being hypocritical, because Mikasa wore a scarf all the time and Armin liked soy, non-fat lattes. Still.)

But how dare someone look down on Eren for liking a movie?

He looked over the review once again and huffed in indignation. Not thinking much about it, he clicked on the comment box and began writing his reply:

 

> Okay, Mr. I-never-have-any-fun-ever-and-like-to-shit-on-people’s-beloved-films-for-dumb-reasons…

 

* * *

Jean sat on bench outside the library, scrolling through the comments of his post. They ranged from complete agreement to downright hatred. He was used to it — he had been running his blog for a few years now, and it was mainly for movie critiques and discussion, though he did post personal things somewhat frequently. 

He found one review that caught his interest, if only for the sheer length.

He began reading aloud. “ _‘Okay, Mr. I-never-have-any-fun-ever-and-like-to-shit-on-people’s-beloved-films-for-dumb-reasons…’_ Who the fuck is this guy?”

He read the rest of the comment, his fist curling more tightly with each sentence and the corner of his mouth pulling upward in a nasty expression.

After reading, he quickly typed out a long reply, and he knew he was being more hostile than he should have been, but this guy deserved it. After he published the comment, he looked up at the username:                                                    

“ _‘jaegermeister’_? What a tool.”

“Watch out!” someone called from afar, and Jean looked up. A boy on a skateboard was riding fast and warned a pedestrian in his path to move — he didn’t look like he could stop the board. Jean’s eyes widened as the boy was headed straight for a tree.

The boy stopped just in time, his foot reach down and stopping the board. He stumbled, almost falling, but caught himself against a pole.

Seeing that he was okay, Jean let out a breath.

The boy turned around and swept his bangs out of his eyes, and Jean blinked.

It was that guy — the one he saw riding a skateboard (quite badly) every day for the past week. Jean stopped thinking entirely, the way he always did when he saw him.

His brown hair was all mussy from wind and he grabbed the hem of his tank top to pull it up and wipe the sweat from his forehead and Jean could see his abs and it was hard to tell from the distance but he was pretty sure this guy had green eyes and a nice jaw and holy hell this boy was gorgeous.

“Fuck.”

Something possessed Jean to grab his phone and take a picture, and even in the moment he knew it was creepy and inappropriate, but there was something about his expression and the way light hit his skin that made Jean want to capture the sight.

He took the picture and looked at it, satisfied for the moment, and when he looked up, the boy was gone. Looking all around, Jean still couldn’t find him. How disappointing.

He sat back against the bench, looking up and trying to remember the exact features of the guy’s face. The precise details escaped him, his memory only allowing a blurry, unsatisfactory picture. Jean had only seen him a handful of times, and the guy was rarely still enough for Jean to really appreciate his appearance. He caught himself before he could let out an embarrassing dreamy sigh.  Marco was right: he could be so shallow sometimes.

He grabbed his phone and went to his blog, uploading the picture. He typed at the bottom:

 

> **Oh no he’s perfect**
> 
> jkirstein:
> 
> Skateboard boy why?
> 
> #college #help

 

Jean sighed. He wanted to meet him, actually talk to him, but he never saw him around campus. He had to have been a student, but the school was big and Jean thought he might never run into him anywhere else. The man had a knack for disappearing quickly, if clumsily.

Jean wouldn’t see him for a few months, either, once summer started in a few days. The level of disappointment he felt was unreasonable, but there nonetheless.

Whatever, he thought. In the end it really was just a hot boy passing by, about whom Jean knew nothing.

Still, with the way that boy stumbled and smiled every day — a part of him wanted to know.

 

* * *

 

 

After a seven-hour flight across the continental US, Jean’s back was aching and he had a headache akin to rancid perfume filling his skull. He rested his head against the cold window of the car door, ignoring the bumps along the way as the cab driver went over speed bumps and made swift turns. He didn’t care much at this point; he just wanted to be home.

 _Home_. It had been a full year.

He raised his head and gripped the handle of the car door tightly as his neighborhood came into view. His hand pressed against the glass window as he saw his house, and he took in a breath as the car stopped.

He paid the cab driver and grabbed his luggage from the trunk, walking over to the porch with his things in tow as the car drove away.

It was exactly the same — tiny house, manicured green lawn, colorful flowers. He walked up to the door, fingering the old, brittle brass knocker. It was never meant to be used, of course, because his mother said it was only for decoration.

He rang the doorbell, and almost immediately it swung open, a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulling him in halfway through the doorway with their force.

“My baby,” said his mother, pulling away from the embrace to repeatedly kiss his cheeks hard.

“Mom, stop,” he said, but he was smiling and she didn’t care.

“Come on, come on. Put your things away in your room and then come down to have lunch,” she said as she pulled him in.

He took off his shoes. The hardness of the wood floors was so familiar. He slid his feet across — smooth, still. His heart was warm and his feet were firmly planted on the ground. Being in college for a year was new and exciting, but nothing could ever replace the cherry wood floors of his home, the perfect California weather, the cinnamon scent of his mother.

He marched up the stairs with his luggage and kicked open the door of his bedroom. It was exactly as he left it. He wasn’t surprised; his mother had always been sentimental. She even cleaned it: it was cleaner than he had left it, hardly any dust or mess.

He set his things down in the corner, thinking he would pack later and rest for now. Falling back on his bed, he reached into his pocket for his phone, wanting to relax for a few moments. As soon as he checked his blog, he sat back up.

“Oh my god.”

 

> jaegermeister:
> 
> WHAT THE FUCK WHY DO YOU HAVE A PICTURE OF ME ON YOUR BLOG YOU FUCKING CREEP

… 

“Shit, shit shit shit,” said Jean. He sat at the kitchen table, looking over the comment once again. He clicked on the user’s blog just to be safe, and lo and behold, there were pictures of _him_. Of all the fucking people in the world.

“What the hell do I do now?”

“What do you do about what?” asked his mother as she walked into the kitchen. She looked over his shoulder at a picture Eren had posted of himself.

“Who’s that? He’s cute. Is he your boyfriend?”

“Oh my god, Mom, no.”

“Don’t forget to bring him home someday,” she said.

“Mom!”

“I’m going to work now,” she said.

Jean finally looked up and noticed her uniform. The light blue waitress uniform that left pangs in his chest. The “Johanna” engraved on her name tag that tore into him every time. She kissed his forehead. 

“I’ll be back late. Dinner is in the fridge — just heat it in the oven.”

“Okay,” said Jean, trying to pull the corners of his mouth up before they slipped into an inevitable frown.

“Oh, and make sure to weed the garden” — Jean cringed — “and unpack your things. And go see Mr. Smith — he asked me how you were doing the other day.”

“The creepy old guy? I don’t want to. He’s so weird.”

“I think he’s handsome,” she said with a smile. “He’s got such a nice — ”

“Don’t say it. I’m going to preheat the oven and throw myself in it. Don’t say it.”

“Ass. Ass, ass, ass. Butt cheeks. Tush.”

“Mom!” he said with a groan.

She smoothed over his hair a few times and smiled, and he wondered how long the lines by her eyes had been there. He grabbed her wrist gently and she looked down at him in surprise.

“What is it?” she said.

Jean was silent for a moment. “Nothing,” he said. “Have a good day at work.”

She bade him goodbye once more and he was alone in the kitchen again, lost for moment in his own thoughts before his eyes caught the glimmer of his phone screen. He was reminded of a boy with impeccable everything and really bad taste in movies.

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

“This is so fucking creepy,” said Eren as he sat on the floor of Armin’s bedroom, a computer sitting on his lap. The screen displayed a picture of him on a skateboard at Sina University. “Seriously, who the fuck did this?”

“That’s disgusting,” said Mikasa. “We have to find them and turn them in. Or I’ll take care of it.” She had a dangerous look in her eye and her mind went through possible ideas of who this person was, ranging from someone with a crush to an obsessive stalker.

“The blog description says… Jean? His name is Jean Kirstein.”

Armin nearly spit out his tea. “Jean Kirstein?” he said.

“Yeah,” said Eren. “You know him?”

“Yeah. He’s a friend of mine. We have a lot of classes together.”

Mikasa whipped her head to face Armin. “Where does he live?”

“No,” he said, sensing danger. “He’s not a bad guy, not even creepy, I swear. He’s harmless.”

“Hm,” was all she said. She trusted Armin’s judgment, but there was still a slim chance that this Jean Kirstein could be dangerous.

Eren kept scrolling through the blog, displeased not only with the idea of some weirdo posting a picture of him, but also with Jean’s opinions on movies.

“He hates all the mainstream movies. I knew it! He’s so pretentious.”

Armin shrugged. Jean was a little pretentious, but Eren was probably overstating it.

“Didn’t you go through a phase where you would only watch indie movies one summer?” Mikasa said.

“Mikasa, I was fifteen, okay?”

Eren continued to scroll in disgust, scoffing in indignation a few times, before he suddenly raised an eyebrow. The disgust was smoothed from his face. He looked quite intrigued.

“Woah,” said Eren.

“What is it?” said Armin.

“He’s…” Eren trailed off.

“He’s what?” said Mikasa.

“He’s… kind of hot,” said Eren, cocking his head to the side as he continued to look at the picture he came across.

Armin blinked. “Um.” 

“I mean, he’s a total dick. But, like, his face. Not bad. I’m just saying.”

“Eren,” said Mikasa.

“Hm?”

“You’re drooling.”

“Oh.”

 

 


	2. summer, 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ymir, amazingly, fixes things, and Jean is more charmed by Eren than he should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some yumikuri in this chapter!

"My life is over,” said Jean, monotone. 

He sat cross-legged on his bed while Ymir and Krista sat on his rug, leaning against each other.

Ymir laughed. “Yeah, you fucked up. Your life is totally over.”

Krista gave her a disapproving look, then turned to Jean with pity in her eyes.

"I’m sure if you explained it to Eren he would understand," she said.

"Yeah," said Ymir. "Maybe he won’t sue your ass for putting up a photo of him without his consent."

Jean turned to her, his face expressionless and his voice still monotone. “I would tell you to fuck off, but yeah, I hope he doesn’t sue me.”

Leaning down without taking her eyes off of Jean, Ymir whispered in Krista’s ear, “Look at him. It’s like the embarrassment has completely shut down his will for living. Look at his dead little eyes, devoid of any life or soul.”

She cackled, and Krista tried to shush her while desperately restraining guilty giggles.

There was a knock on the door, which opened before Jean could even say "come in."

Jean's mother took a step through the door, smiling at the two girls in acknowledgement before asking Jean to deliver brownies to their neighbor Mr. Smith.

"Sure," said Jean, immediately getting off his bed.

"Well, you don't have to do it right now; you have guests — "

"No, I'll do it now," he said.

"Try not to have sex on my bed while I'm gone," Jean said, giving Ymir a dirty look. She only smiled at him, while Krista glanced at Jean's mother in mortification.

When the two girls were alone, Ymir smiled mischievously at her girlfriend.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" said Ymir, and Krista tilted her head questioningly. "Let's have sex on his bed while he's gone."

"That's so wrong," said Krista.

"You're right; we don't know how many times he's jacked off there. Let's have sex on the floor."

Krista opened her mouth to refuse, but she her eyes caught Ymir's lips, pink and smiling, and swallowed. A few seconds later they were laying down on hardwood, kissing feverishly. Ymir ran her hands up Krista's side, beneath her shirt, and they broke off their kiss for air.

They shared a heated look, and Ymir brought up her hand to wipe away an eyelash on Krista's cheek, her thumb lingering.

The tender silence was broken by the brief ring of Jean's cell phone.

"He left his phone here," said Krista, turning her head to the cell phone on the night stand.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Krista turned to her in horror. "You want to have sex on his cell phone?"

"No," said Ymir with a laugh, "but I like the way you think."

Ymir gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before getting up and grabbing Jean's phone.

"What're you doing?" said Krista.

Ymir stayed silent, eyes widening at whatever she saw on the screen. A wide smile spread slowly on her face as she typed rapidly.

"What is it?" Krista said again.

"I'm ruining Jean's life a little more," said Ymir. "If that's even possible, anyway."

"What?" said Krista. She got up and looked over at the phone screen.

"Oh my god," she said.

"I know," said Ymir with absolute delight.

"No," said Krista.

"Come on," said Ymir.

"You can't! You need to fix it," she said, and edge of panic in her voice — and at that Ymir couldn't refuse.

Ymir gave a heavy sigh. "Ruining my summer fun," she muttered as she began typing again. "Why you gotta be my conscience for?"

Krista smiled, Ymir's comment delighting her greatly, and linked their arms together.

"I hate being a good person," said Ymir.

 

* * *

 

"You know you shouldn't tweet when you're angry, Eren," said Armin.

Jean Kirstein hadn't apologized for his offense and happened to have a public Twitter account. Eren couldn't possibly be blamed for his angry tweets to Jean. (Besides, "you could at least apologize, fuckface" wasn't even that offensive.)

Eren's phone sounded and he looked down.

 

> **jkirstein:** @jaegermeister if you wanted to engage in some facefucking you could've just asked politely ;))))

 

"Oh my god."

"What?" said Armin, looking down at Eren's phone. "Oh. My god."

Eren felt his face burning, unable to believe what he was seeing.

 

> **jkirstein:** @jaegermeister sorry that was my dumb friend pranking me. I'm sorry for posting your pic online

 

Eren breathed a sigh of relief.

 

> **jkirstein:** @jaegermeister sorry for being a dick. I just thought you were super cute and I wasn't thinking. please don't sue me.

 

"Well, that's actually pretty nice of him," said Armin. "I guess that's that."

He looked up at Eren, who was still fixated on his screen.

"He really thought I was cute," said Eren.

"…I guess that's not that."

"I'm just flattered, is all."

The phone sounded again, and they both looked down.

 

> **jkirstein:** @jaegermeister but I mean we can still engage in facefucking if you want

 

* * *

 

 

Erwin Smith was a talented but down-on-his-luck actor that lived in a tiny house next to Jean's even tinier house. He was extremely handsome (with, as Johanna Kirstein had said, a great butt), but he to Jean he was the most boring man in existence, and his smile was a little too nice.

"Hey Mr. Smith," Jean said as Erwin opened the door.

"Jean, what a nice surprise!" said Erwin.

"My mom told me to bring these brownies over to you," said Jean, and for a moment nostalgia washed over him — he was reminded of when he was twelve, reluctantly bringing over baked goods to this same man.

Some things never changed, he supposed.

"How lovely of her. Would you like to come in?"

Jean was about to refused — he was always bored talking to Erwin, who was too strait-laced for Jean's taste — but looked at the fond smile on the man's face and realized that, after a year of being alone across the country, he actually kind of missed his boring neighbor.

"Sure." he said.

He'd probably regret it later, but Erwin's sincerity won him over.

Erwin prepared tea while he sank into the soft, maroon couch. It was like a cloud for his ass from the Victorian era. Erwin chatted on about his life and current events while Jean responded minimally. His mind wandered to Ymir and Krista, who were probably still in his room, and he really hoped they weren't having sex in there. (He didn't like coming home to Ymir's underwear on his night stand, which only happened once before, but was enough to traumatize him.)

He caught sight of an old picture on Erwin's mantle, back when he was a student in college himself.

The guy on the skateboard inevitably wandered into Jean's train of thought.

Eren, he reminded himself. _His name is Eren and he has bad taste in movies and he kind of hates me now because I'm a creep and he's way too good-looking for his own good._

Reminded of the entire disastrous situation, Jean's former anxiety came back, and that was all he could think of for the next hour.

He was inexplicably pleased at the same time, though, because "Eren" sounded a lot nicer than "the guy on the skateboard."

He silently mouthed the name, ignoring Erwin's talking.

"Eren," he mouthed wordlessly, getting used to the name. He wondered if he was saying it correctly — he had never seen that name before. Was it pronounced like "Aaron"? 

Erwin glanced curiously at him when he realized Jean had stopped responding, and he could see the boy concentrating on something, saying something that he couldn't hear.

 

* * *

 

"Ymir, you son of a bitch," said Jean. He knuckles were white as he gripped his phone.

"No, look — I fixed it for you. See?" she said as she scrolled down his phone at later tweets.

Jean read them all with horror and apprehension, emotions swinging from anger and relief as he saw what Eren had wrote. Eren was offended, then forgiving, then offended again, before deciding that Jean's apologies were sincere (even if they were mixed in with inappropriate sexual innuendos and outright offers of sex).

Except they weren't Jean's apologies at all — they were Ymir's.

But she had fixed the situation with Eren for him, technically. He didn't know whether to thank her or kick her out of his house.

He looked at the last tweet Eren had sent:

 

> **jaegermeister:** @jkirstein I guess your taste in movies isn't HORRIBLE. 

 

He smiled at that. The combination of Eren's angry-looking ( _pouty, he looks so god damn pouty_ ) profile picture and his words was kind of adorable.

"Oh. Kirstein's charmed by jaegermeister. Interesting," said Ymir.

"Shut up," said Jean as he typed out a response.

 

> **jkirstein:** @jaegermeister I guess Attack on Titan's not that bad either.

 

He waited anxiously for the reply, and Ymir and Krista looked at each other knowingly.

 

> **jaegermeister:** @jkirstein and thanks for saying i'm cute i guess. i mean you're not that bad either. your face is kinda nice.

 

Jean bit his lip to keep from smiling again, his entire being going giddy at those words.

Boys had told him before (both drunk and sober) that he was gorgeous, handsome, charming — but none had ever got his heart fluttering as much as, "i mean you're not that bad either. your face is kinda nice."

When Jean didn't respond, too wrapped up in thinking what Eren meant by that, Eren said again:

 

> **jaegermeister:** @jkirstein like in a horse way. your face is long-ish like a horse. i like horses and i just meant your face is nice like a horse's face is nice, not in an insulting way or anything i swear

 

Jean laughed at Eren's attempt at covering up his own compliment, and never before had he been so charmed by someone saying he looked like a horse.

"Your face is nice too," said Jean aloud and unconsciously, forgetting that Ymir and Krista were still there.

"Five bucks that they'll be having phone sex by the end of summer," said Ymir.

Krista looked up at her, then over at Jean, who was still grinning at his screen. He looked so happy, and Krista laced her fingers with Ymir and smiled.

"That's not something I'd bet against," she said, and leaned her head sweetly against Ymir's shoulder.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter and the long wait! I'm out of school now and hopefully that means more time to update. Thank you so much for being patient with me ✿
> 
> Chapter for orgiastique for being amazing and super supportive ♥


	3. summer, 02

The sun hit his back pleasantly as he rested his cheek against the warm sand. He closed his eyes for just a minute, relishing the feel and sounds of the beach, and decided that it’d be okay if he never went back to school again.

 

It was when the buzzing of his cell phone interrupted all other sounds that Jean shot up, previous relaxation gone, and grabbed his phone so quickly Ymir didn’t even have time to take it away from him.

“ _No_ ,” said Marco, but Jean just held up a finger to silence him. 

> **Eren** : haha

Jean groaned and lied back down, holding the phone over his face.

“I wait half an hour for a  _‘haha’_?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so frustrated if you weren’t completely obsessed with your phone,” said Marco.

“Yeah,” said Ymir. “Maybe you should try to relax like normal people do on summer vacation.”

Jean looked up from his phone. “ _Maybe_  you two should just worry about your little freckled selves and leave me to obsess over this stranger I met on the internet.”

“Jean,” Krista said cautiously, “you — ”

“Yes, I’m perfectly aware of how pathetic I sound.”

“Well, as long as you recognize it,” she said, and went back to rubbing sunscreen on Ymir’s back.

“What does a guy have to do around here to get something more than a  _‘haha’_?”

“What do you want, his life story?” said Ymir.

“Well,  _yeah_. That’d be really nice, actually. Very convenient.”

“This is going pretty far for liking someone just for their face,” said Marco. He was laying on the sand, head resting on his hands, and he looked up at Jean with a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, Marco,” said Jean.

“What exactly do you know about him?”

Jean hesitated. He looked over at Ymir, who had gone into the water with Krista, and looked back to Marco.

“Well,” he said. “I kind of went through his entire blog.”

“And?”

“That’s… kind of it.”

“That’s all you know about him?”

“Well, we go to the same school, but we’ve never talked before. But, here, look!” said Jean, pulling up a website on his phone and showing Marco.

“He’s my age, he lives in an apartment with his friends, he loves dogs, his favorite thing to do is watch movies — I mean, come on. Do you see all these opinionated blog posts about movies? Someone who’s as nuts about films as I am,” he said, voice going all dreamy.

“You said he had terrible taste in movies, and he loves the movie you hate with a passion.”

“Yeah,” said Jean with a grin. “But someone to argue with isn’t bad either.”

Marco laughed, sitting up and taking a good look at Jean’s phone screen.

“I didn’t know you liked dogs so much,” he said, surprised at the mention of how Eren loved dogs.

“I don’t really like them all that much, but I like the idea of a guy that loves dogs,” said Jean.

“This is all a little convoluted, don’t you think?”

“Incredibly,” said Jean. “But look at his  _face_. And he likes  _movies_.”

“You know, Jean, you’re a little high-maintenance sometimes, and I definitely thought you’d have more criteria for potential boyfriends than that.”

“You thought wrong, my friend,” said Jean as he typed out a response to Eren’s frustrating  _“_ _haha.”_

☀

The thing about his intense infatuation with Eren “so-good-looking-it-makes-you-angry” Yeager was that he knew he was in love with the idea of him. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t perfectly aware that he didn’t  _really_  know much about Eren, or that this — whatever they had — would probably fizzle out by the end of summer.

He was just infatuated with him, which strictly had to do with the  _idea_  of Eren and not actually Eren.

But it was a very attractive idea, and not a bad way to pass the summer.

He had known this all along but never wanted to bring it to the surface of his consciousness, only  finally able admit it to himself when almost three weeks passed and all they had done was text about nothing in particular.

God, did Jean try.

> **Jean** : what’d you do today?
> 
>  **Eren** : nothing much
> 
>  **Jean** : what’re you doing right now?
> 
>  **Eren** : nothing
> 
>  **Jean** : what’s your worst childhood fear?
> 
>  **Eren** : the dark maybe idk
> 
>  **Jean** : did you know that sandalwood helps with skin regeneration? super cool, right?
> 
>  **Eren** : kewl

It was like talking to a brick wall. How could someone so charming be so dull?

In two weeks and five days, Jean called it quits, deciding that ungodly good looks and similar interests just weren't worth it.

In two weeks and six days, Eren called.

The phone rang, the words “Eren ‘fuck-me-I’m-so-hot-but-boring-as-hell’ Yeager” appearing on the screen. Jean stared at it, not quite comprehending, before sticking out a finger and pressing the green “answer” button. He cautiously brought it up to his ear.

“Hello?” he said.

“Jean?”

 _Oh_ , he thought blankly. So that was what Eren’s voice sounded like.

His thoughts seemed coherent enough, yet he couldn’t find any words at the moment to describe it.

“Did — did you need something?”

Eren was silent for a moment, only his breathing audible through the phone, then said, “You didn’t answer my texts yesterday, so I was wondering if you were okay.”

“You called… to see if I was okay?”

“Well, you usually answer my texts freakishly fast, but yesterday you didn’t answer any of them, so I just thought — you know — yeah.”

Was Eren stuttering?

Did Eren just call him because he didn’t answer his texts for a day?

Jean starting laughing before he could think about it, shoulders feeling light and the bottom of his feet tingling like they did whenever he was immeasurably pleased.

“Are you laughing at me?” said Eren, huffing a little.

“I can hear you pouting over the phone,” said Jean, still chucking.

“Shut up,” said Eren, and he did that little huffing thing again. (Jean had never actually known anyone who could huff in annoyance and not sound like an idiot, but by god, he had always suspected that Eren wasn’t really a mortal anyway.) “You know, I called to make sure you were okay. Now that I know, I guess I can go.”

How could one person be so  _adorable_?

“Hey, don’t go,” said Jean. “I’m sorry I called you a brick wall.”

“You called me a  _what_?” he said.

“Never mind,” Jean said quickly. “So, uh, how was your day?”

Eren hummed in thought, wondering if he should pursue that “brick wall” comment, and ultimately decided to have mercy on the boy.

“Good,” he said. “I got a summer job recently and it’s a ton of manual labor, so I’m always tired by the time I get home. I’m usually napping by now.”

“Why aren’t you napping then?”

“Well, you didn’t answer my texts,” said Eren. “I was…  _alarmed_.”

“Alarmed?”

“Alarmed.”

Jean grinned so wide the slight dimple on his right cheek was showing, and he fell backwards onto the bed, phone still against his ear.

“So, tell me about your summer job.”

“God, it sucks. But money is money, I guess.”

“Yeah,” said Jean, sympathy in his voice. “I hear that.”

“Basically, I’m helping out with my sister’s uncle’s plumbing company, and it’s a shit ton of digging holes in hot weather.”

“Your sister’s uncle?” said Jean, noting the odd phrasing.

“Oh, yeah. I have a sister, and she’s adopted, and she’s got an uncle.”

“Oh, so you have an adopted sister. Were you adopted too?”

“No, it’s not like that. Her parents died when she was little and my dad took her in since they were family friends.”

Again, the odd phrasing.

“Just your  _dad_  took her in?”

Were his parents divorced?

Eren was silent, and this time Jean couldn’t even hear his breathing.

“Oh,” said Jean. “Wow.”

They moved on from the heavy topic of Eren’s mother, and Jean swallowed, prepared for an awkward conversation.

☀

Eren pulled his blanket up further. The wind was blowing through his window, but he was too lazy to get up and close it. He turned on his side and looked at his alarm clock. It was already nearing 1:00 a.m., but he couldn’t bring himself to hang up just yet.

“So,” Jean said, “my neighbor is super hot, but he’s kind of weird. Smiles a lot.”

“Right,” said Eren. “That’s  _so_  weird. He must be  _such_  a creeper.”

“I’m serious! He’s too perfect. It’s unreal. I don’t even know why he lives in that tiny house — he looks like he could afford something way better. And he drives this shitty old car, but I’ve seen him wearing Tag Heuer watches, and his house is filled with expensive-looking china and souvenirs from all over the world.”

“Tag Heuer watches? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Me either, but my mom says they’re really freaking expensive.”

“Huh. That  _is_  kind of weird.”

“Do you think he’s like, a high-class prostitute?” Jean whispered. “I mean — not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Eren snickered, adjusting the phone by his ear. “Do high-class sex workers usually travel all over the world and live in the suburbs?”

“True, true.”

“We should investigate,” said Eren, pulling out a notepad from the drawer of his nightstand.

There was an involuntary smile on Jean’s face, and he noted the way Eren said “ _We_  should investigate” despite the almost 3,000 miles between them and the fact that he had never even met Erwin.

(Or Jean, for that matter. But he supposed that a virtual meeting counted as much as any.)

Eren began writing:

 

> Erwin Smith
> 
>   * age: 34; sex: male; sexual orientation: ???
> 
>   * hot and perfect
> 
>   * expensive things
> 
>   * cheap house cheap car???
> 
>   * maybe a sex worker → probably not
> 
>   * ~~jean’s mom has the hots for him~~  everyone has the hots for him
> 
>   * a struggling actor?
> 
>   * possible side job, like drug dealing. would explain all the $$$
> 
> 


 

“He doesn’t really look like the drug dealing type,” said Jean.

“Neither does Walter White,” said Eren as he triple underlined  _“drug dealing,”_  and Jean could hear the scratching of the pen.

“Who’s Walter White?”

“Are you serious?” said Eren. “Do you watch television at all? Or live  _not_  under a rock?”

“I only really watch movies. Television is kind of…”

“You little snob,” Eren said with laughter, cutting Jean off before he could finish his sentence.

Below the notes about Erwin, Eren wrote:

 

> Jean Kirstein
> 
>   * knows a shit ton about films, but is actually pop-culture deficient otherwise
> 
>   * is hot but totally snobby-hipster
> 
>   * ~~that’s kind of cute~~
> 
> 


 

“What else are you writing?” said Jean.

“Notes about you,” he said casually.

“ _What_? What notes?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eren said, tone light.

“No,” Jean whined. “What’re you writing?”

“Hmm. Just your profile — height, weight, etcetera,” he said, lying just to tease him.

“You don’t know any of that,” said Jean.

“I can guess, based off of the pictures you posted on your blog.”

Jean paused. “So you went through my blog?”

“Are you saying you didn’t go through mine?”

“Shut up,” said Jean. “What are your estimates?”

“You look like you’re about 5’7”?” Eren said hopefully.

“5’11” and a half, actually,” Jean said with pride. “Practically six foot.”

“Damn,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“You’re four inches taller than me,” Eren muttered.

“Oh,” said Jean with glee. Then Eren was 5’7”. “You’re  _short_. That’s adorable.”

“I’m hanging up,” said Eren.

“No,” said Jean, a little panicked.

“I’m not short,” said Eren, terribly indignant for one little comment about his height.

“You’re a  _little_  short,” said Jean.

Eren huffed again (he seemed to huff a lot). “Only comparatively.”

They argued about this for a few minutes, their voices steadily rising in volume without them noticing, until Jean’s door opened and his mother peeked in.

“What’re you doing?” she said, still groggy. “Go to sleep. It’s past 1:00.”

“In a minute,” he said, covering the mouth of his phone and waving her away.

“Who are you talking to?”

He didn’t answer, and her eyebrows lifted.

“I see,” she said with a smile. “Well, just remember to wake up in time to go dog-sit for Mr. Smith.”

“What?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. You’re going to look after his dog while he’s on vacation. He said he was looking for someone and I told him you’d be happy to do it.”

“But I’m  _not_  happy to do it!”

“What? But you  _love_  dogs.”

“No I don’t!”

Johanna just stared at him, mouth slightly hung open. “Sweetie,” she said, “you know I’m so proud of you in every way, but I don’t know how I raised a son that doesn’t like dogs.”

She shook her head disapprovingly and said, “Good night,” before closing the door gently.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” said Eren. Jean had almost forgotten he was still on the other line, and his hand had slipped from covering the mouth of the phone.

His eyes widened and panic set in. Eren must’ve thought that he was being so rude to his mother, but it was just the blunt way they had always talked to each other, and Jean never meant anything by it and he loved his mom a lot and Eren probably thought he was a douchebag to his loving mother when Eren didn’t even  _have_  a mom —

“Who the fuck doesn’t like dogs?”

Jean let out a breath, shoulders relaxing.

They argued for the next hour about dogs (“Why? Why is it so important to everyone that I love every god damn dog in the universe?” — “Uh, the more important question is why are you so  _heartless_?”).

“Eren,” he said when all he had heard was Eren’s steady breathing for the past two minutes. “Are you asleep?”

There was no answer.

“You jackass, don’t fall asleep on me.”

Still nothing. He sighed.

“Good night,” he said softly.

☀

When Eren woke up later that morning, his phone dead and on the floor, he realized he had accidentally fallen asleep.

Once his cell was charged and turned on, five texts appeared all at once.

> **Jean** : Jackass
> 
>  **Jean** : Sleep is for the WEAK.
> 
>  **Jean** : Call me later, okay?
> 
>  **Jean** : You ARE short, by the way.
> 
>  **Jean** : Talk to meeeeeee

 Eren laughed, scrolling through to see if there were any more messages from Jean, and found himself a little disappointed when there weren’t.

He leaned back and read through them again, still smiling. He grabbed the pen and notepad on his nightstand, reading over what he had written last night about Jean, and added one more note.  

> Jean Kirstein
> 
>   * knows a shit ton about films, but is actually pop-culture deficient otherwise
> 
>   * is hot but totally snobby-hipster
> 
>   * ~~that’s kind of cute~~
> 
>   * all right, very cute. also a little needy. even better.
> 
> 


 

His phone sounded with another text and Eren grabbed it quickly.

> **Jean** : Hey, what did you really write about me yesterday? Just my height and weight and stuff? Is that really it?

 Eren texted back immediately.

> **Eren** : shhhh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these chapters are ending up a lot shorter than I ever intended, but I guess that just means there'll be more chapters!
> 
> This fic was originally going to be 10 chapters long, with the 8 middle chapters split up into the 4 seasons (summer, fall, winter, spring) with 2 chapters per season, but I guess it's going to be longer than 10 now (how much longer, I'm not sure).
> 
> Thanks for reading! ; v ;
> 
> (Oh, and just a small note: I changed Jean's height from canon, which is 175 cm/5'9")


	4. summer, 03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS. LONG TIME NO SEE.
> 
> I'm...... so sorry. I don't even know what to say. 
> 
> This chapter is ~1,700 words and not much happens at all, sorry! :( I'm strapped for time right now but the next chapter will be more substantial. Also I re-read the past chapters and oh my god, CRINGE. CRINGE SO BAD. I wanna go back and edit to make it better, but I don't think that's gonna happen any time soon. Also please forgive the little formatting changes/inconsistencies from now onward with the first 3 chapters (the text messages, for instance).

Jean slowly closed the drawer, then opened the second one.

“Find anything yet?” said Eren.

“Nah. Just some ugly boxers,” he said, adjusting the phone against his ear. “I didn’t even know argyle boxers were a thing.”

“You’re looking through his _underwear_ drawer?”

“Does that make you jealous?” said Jean.

“I don’t even understand that question.”

Upon opening the second drawer, Jean snorted at the stacks of tax documents. Typical Erwin Smith—so boring.

“There’s a bunch of tax returns in here,” said Jean, picking up the first packet and looking at the bottom corner. “Holy shit, he makes a ton of money. I knew it.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know if it’s right to leak that kind of information, Eren. It’s kind of an invasion of privacy.”

“The fuck? You’re literally snooping through his—”

“What’s this?” said Jean.

He ran his index finger against the inside bottom edge of the drawer, noticing a slight gap between the bottom and the side; they didn’t quite meet, leaving a tiny gap where the inner edge should’ve been.

“Dude, he’s got a false bottom drawer.”

He carefully lifted the false bottom with his fingernails, setting it on the floor.

Jean stared down at it with a slack jaw.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” said Eren.

“Jesus Christ.”

“ _What_? You find a dildo or something?”

“They’re naked photos of some guy. Some really _buff_ guy. He’s hot, too—not really my type, but hot. Holy fuck.”

“‘Not your type’—what _is_ your type?”

“Did you not hear me when I said my boring handsome neighbor has naked photos hidden in his drawer?”

“That’s actually not too uncommon,” said Eren. “I don’t know what you’re freaking out about.”

“I don’t know. He just seems so _vanilla_. I always get a weird vibe from him—”

“Right,” said Eren. “He _smiles_ too much. Probably secretly a murderer.”

“Shut up. But anyway, I didn’t think he was so kinky.”

Eren was silent, then Jean heard a short, muffled laugh.

“You think naked photos are kinky?” said Eren.

“No, I just—they’re not _normal_. I mean, they’re a _little_ kinky.”

“Oh Jean,” said Eren, “you sweet Virgin Mary.”

That would’ve bothered Jean, except—

“Are you saying you’ve sent naked pictures before?”

“Maybe,” said Eren. “Maybe not.”

Jean swallowed. “I better put this back,” he muttered.

He tried to put everything back the way as he had found it; Erwin had been nice throughout the years about Jean accidentally breaking his flower pots, throwing baseballs through his window, and stumbling on his front porch drunk when he had tried alcohol for the first time, but snooping through his lover’s naked photos seemed like it might’ve been crossing a line. Just maybe.

Maybe he should be nicer to Erwin.

The next thing he knew, though, he was grabbing Ol’ Erwin’s moleskine notebook from his nightstand and lying on his bed.

Jean read aloud an entry from six months ago:

_I’ve been offered a job, a wonderful job indeed, but I don’t know if I should accept the offer. It’s a wonderful opportunity, but I’d be working so intimately with L. … Quite awkward, no? H. says I should take it, but I know they have ulterior motivations for this sort of thing…_

“I guess he’s not a prostitute,” said Eren.

“Or a drug dealer.”

 _“Eren, stop making personal calls!”_ Jean heard from the other end. The rough voice clearly wasn’t Eren’s.

“I’m on break, Levi!” Eren said. “And you’re not even my boss here! I’m off your clock.”

 _“Just making sure,”_ said the other voice. _“I don’t want you making personal calls when you’re working for me.”_

“Whatever, you old fart.”

“Who’s that?” said Jean.

“Levi. My sister’s uncle. He likes to boss me around no matter where we are. I think he does it out of love or something. Or maybe because he can’t do it to Mikasa, because she never listens to him.”

 _“She listens to me…”_ Levi muttered.

 _“I do not,”_ said a voice.

“It’s crowded over there, isn’t it?” Jean said with a smile, trying to picture everyone.

Eren looked around the ice cream parlor. “Yeah, I guess it is. This place gets busy during summer. More—ah, sorry, my break’s up. I’ll call you later?”

“Yeah,” said Jean, index finger making spiral patterns on the duvet. _You better_.

When he heard the ending click, he sighed and spread out his arms, laying like a starfish on Erwin’s bed. If Jean remembered correctly, Eren’s shift would end in two hours. He wondered if Eren would call him immediately, or not until tonight, or maybe even (god help his impatient heart) tomorrow.

He continued to flip through Erwin’s moleskine, but couldn’t find any names beyond “L” and other initials. Erwin Smith may have been more interesting than he gave him credit for—but then again, it could’ve all been nothing.

His phone buzzed. He opened a message from Eren:

_“Keep investigating, 007. I wanna hear your findings later. Report due midnight.”_

He laughed and replied:

_“Yes sir.”_

It really felt like something, though.

☀

Exactly two hours and seven minutes later, Jean got a call. He woke up and felt around for his phone.

“Eren?”

“Oh my god, my shift was _shit_.”

“What happened?”

“This old white lady comes up to me, right? She orders a scoop of matcha ice cream in a puffle cone, and I’m like, ‘I’m sorry ma’am, we don’t have matcha ice cream here. Also I don’t know what a puffle cone is.’ And she _flips her shit_. She was like, ‘what kind of frozen dairy establishment’—I mean, who even says that anyway? _‘Frozen dairy establishment.’_ ”

“Wait—you’ve never had a puffle cone?”

“That’s a real thing? I thought she was just making it up.”

“Oh my god,” said Jean. “It’s like—a soft, puffy waffle cone. There’s a place on the other side of town that sells gourmet ice cream and puffle cones.”

“You should take me some time,” Eren said, and Jean could hear the smile in his voice.

“Sure, just hop on a flight to the west coast. You buy the plane ticket and I’ll buy the ice cream.”

“In time, Jean Valjean.”

“Shut _up_.”

“Gene Simmons?”

“You could at least stick with a consistent pronunciation of ‘Jean.’”

“Naw, I like the variation. J'onn J'onzz. Get it? ‘Cause your a gross extraterrestrial green creature.”

“I’m super hot and you know it. Also, I love Martian Manhunter, so there.”

Eren hummed and checked his nails, as if Jean could see him do it. “I don’t know, Jean. You’re all right. Handsome boy, for sure”—Jean blinked, turning red—“but you lack the charisma and je ne sais quoi that I possess.”

“Je ne sais fuck you,” said Jean, still fixated on Eren calling him “handsome.” _Handsome_. He didn’t think Eren would’ve ever admitted that so plainly.

Hell, he was afraid Eren secretly thought Jean was ugly. Jean was not ugly by any average standards, but Eren didn’t look average. He looked a lot like a guy Taylor Swift would write song lyrics about—all prince charming and James Dean daydream look in his eye at the same time. Except with a much dorkier personality.

That was, unfortunately for Jean, a rather fatal combination.

Oh my god, was he just thinking of Eren in terms of song lyrics?

He got off the bed as Eren started telling him more about his day, and jumped when he felt something soft and furry graze his foot.

“What is it?” said Eren.

“Oh, it’s just the dog.”

“Oh my god,” said Eren. “Send me a picture.”

“Of the dog?”

“What else?”

 _Me?_ he thought, rolling his eyes. He snapped a quick picture of Erwin’s golden retriever and sent it.

“It’s so cute,” Eren whispered. “What’s its name?”

“Fuck if I know,” said Jean. He kneeled down and looked at the tag on the dog’s collar. “Oh, it’s ‘Bickle.’ Cute.”

“ _Bickle_ ,” Eren said like he was in love. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You have problems,” said Jean.

“I’m not a heartless guy who feels nothing towards animals?”

“Yeah,” said Jean. “Exactly. I bet you even like cats too.”

“I do like cats! I _love_ cats!”

“They’re evil creatures.”

“Yes. What’s your point?”

“Oh shit,” said Jean. A door shut. “I think Erwin’s home.”

He shoved the moleskine back into the nightstand and smoothed his hair, like that would make him look less suspicious.

“Hi Mr. Smith,” said Jean. “How was your day? I’ve had a good time with Bickle here.”

Eren snorted on the other line.

“That’s wonderful!” said Erwin, delighted to see Jean petting his dog. “I can’t thank you enough for taking care of him. I know your mom said you were happy to do it for free, but I insist on paying you.”

“Oh, no. You don’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense! I in—”

“Well, if you insist,” said Jean.

“I do,” said Erwin, handing him two crisp twenty dollar bills.

“Thank you, sir,” said Jean, already making his way for the door. “Call me if you need any more dog-sitting!”

☀

“He gave me forty bucks,” said Jean, walking down Erwin’s porch steps, “for laying in his bed and petting his dog. Oh my god, why is he so nice? _And_ he’s secretly rich. It’s so suspicious.”

Eren rolled his eyes. “Wow, nice rich man giving you money for dog-sitting. So weird, right?”

“Damn right it’s weird.”

“I think maybe you have a secret little crush on your neighbor, Jean.”

“ _What_? Don’t even joke about that. He’s like twice my age.”

“A precocious crush, if you will,” said Eren. “Or perhaps a platonic crush? Anyway, save that money.”

“Why?” Jean laughed. “Because it’s gonna help me pay off thousands of dollars worth of student loans?”

“What? No. We’re gonna die in debt anyway.” Jean laughed again. “No, save the money to buy me ice cream in a puffle cone, for when I come to the west coast,” said Eren. “Some day.”

Jean smiled, looking up at blindingly bright blue sky and shielding himself from the summer sun with a hand. Was summer on the east coast this perfect right now?

“Sure,” said Jean. “Pick a day, any day.”

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimers:  
> • I know nothing about movies  
> • Eren Yeager's opinions of hipsters do not reflect those of the author
> 
> Originally inspired by [this post](http://pyrope.tk/post/77299013398/i-vaguely-remember-a-post-about-a-girl).


End file.
